


Devilish Fairy Tales

by 23Murasaki



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Crack, Don't Judge Me, Everyone gets a story!, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Purple Prose, True Love's Kiss, Unrepentant crack, but it's on purpose because fairy tales are pretentious af, is not a thing that anyone thinks of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/23Murasaki/pseuds/23Murasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin: fairy tales, only Kuroshitsuji-flavored. Let's say it's in honor of the side story from the Book of Murder DVD, and let's pretend I didn't try to do this before ^^;<br/>Story 1: Sleeping Beauty<br/>Story 2: Beauty and the Beast<br/>Story 3: Hansel and Gretel<br/>Story 4: Snow White<br/>Story 5: Rapunzel<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Comte au Bois Dormant

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived an earl and his wife. They were happily married, but their only sorrow was that they had no children. One day, the earlʼs wife was walking in her gardens when she gazed into the sky and sighed--  
  
“Oh, that I could have a child to call my own.”  
  
From behind her came a voice, “You will have a son, and he will be the most beautiful child in all the land.” She turned a saw a girl with soft pink hair, and knew her to be a fairy. Overjoyed, she she embraced her and thanked her.  
  
“Sheʼs right,” agreed another fairy, this one a tall, fair-haired man. “And not only that, heʼll be the cleverest in all the land.” Laughing aloud, the earlʼs wife embraced him too. The third fairy was a child with large green eyes and a ready smile, but before he could speak another voice, soft and melodious called out--  
  
“Wait! I too have a gift for this child of yours.” The fourth fairy was pale and beautiful, with hair like snow and gleaming purple eyes, but her smile was cruel. “The night your son turns sixteen, he shall cut his finger on a spindle and die, and nothing and no one will be there to save him!” And with a noise like the crack of a whip, she vanished. Tears welled in the poor womanʼs eyes, but the pink-haired fairy put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Lady, do not cry. We may not be as strong as she, but there is still hope-- Finny hasnʼt given his gift yet.” The youngest fairy nodded in assent.  
  
“He... he wonʼt die. Heʼll just fall asleep. Heʼll sleep until his true love arrives to wake him up.” He bit his lip. “Thatʼs the best I can do, Lady. Iʼm very sorry... but please donʼt cry.”  
  
“Yeah,” said the second fairy, “Weʼll come up with some way to keep him safe.”  
  
And so when the boy was born, with the blessing of the earl and his wife he was spirited off into the forest by the fairies, who had managed to disguise themselves as mortals. There, he would be safe both from courtly intrigue and, they hoped, the wicked fairyʼs curse.  
  
As he grew older the fairiesʼ promises were made reality. He was so lovely that everyone who looked at him was enchanted by him, while his sharp mind and acid tongue kept his admirers at a safe distance. His guardians provided for him as best they could, but knew that he was sneaking about, because he could, because he was young, because not even the first fairyʼs sharp eyes could catch him and not even the third  
  
fairyʼs strong grip could hold him. Still, they tried their best, and as the sun started to set on the day of his sixteenth birthday, they were eager to congratulate themselves on keeping the earlʼs son out of the worst trouble. That was when the boy wandered in to their home cautiously holding a spindle.  
  
“Maylene, what is this? I found it on a tree; I know that is abnormal.” But before she could make a move to stop him, one of his pale fingers hit the sharp point on the spindle and with a little gasp he fell to the ground, sound asleep.  
  
The three fairies gathered him up and tried to return to the earlʼs manor, but the wicked fairy caught them along the way, and they left the sleeping boy in a tall tower and fought her all the way to the next kingdom, where she finally vanished, laughing to herself. Now, it just so happened that in this kingdom lived the earlʼs sister, and that she had a young daughter who was as lovely as she was strong. When the two of them heard the fairiesʼ tale, they, unlike most proper courtly ladies, decided to rescue him rather than swooning dramatically. So the girl put on her prettiest practical dress, took her motherʼs magical sword and set out to save her cousin with the fairies at her back.  
  
When they reached the tower, they saw that the wicked fairy was awaiting them. With a ferocious cry, the wicked fairy lunged at them, but then she stopped, somewhat confused to be facing a young girl rather than whatever she had been expecting. The girl drew her sword and said in her most serious voice,  
  
“Return my true love to me and I wonʼt have to hurt you.” It took the wicked fairy a moment to get her voice back, but when she did she she laughed in the girlʼs face.  
  
“You are such a pathetic little thing-- how can you hope to defeat me?”  
  
“Like this,” said the girl, stabbing the wicked fairy in the chest and making her dissolve into feathers. It certainly wouldnʼt kill her, but piles of feathers were significantly less dangerous than fully-formed wicked fairies, so the girl scattered her for good measure and climbed up all the stairs to the top floor where the earlʼs son was draped over a bed, pale and perfect as a doll. She glanced back at the fairies.  
  
“Wake him up?” offered the second fairy, looking rather confused. The girl glanced back at the figure on the bed.  
  
How?” The three fairies looked at each other.  
  
“Well... um...”  
  
“I donʼt know...”  
  
“I donʼt think we specified, actually.” So she shrugged and shook him by the shoulders and he woke up, big blue eyes clear as ever. He saw her and smiled.  
  
“You were quick. I had been wondering...” But it didnʼt much matter, so she took his hand and took him back to her mother, and then the lot of them went to visit the earl and explain the good news.  
  
It was a good five years before the wicked fairy even bothered reappearing.


	2. The Tax Collector and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starring Will and Grell, because why not.

Once upon a time, in a small town somewhere in the world, there lived a bookish but handsome young man. He did not get on well with others his age due to his cold and abrupt manner, but he was generally kind when it mattered. If he found a problem he could resolve for someone, he resolved it, and if he couldnʼt he sought out someone who could, and he rarely sought compensation. Despite this, he felt perpetually out of place in his small village, so he left and went to the city and became a tax collector, which suited him just fine because taxes, like death, were a certainty.  
  
It is in the city, with the tax collectors, that our story really begins. The young man was very thorough in his duties, and one day when he was reviewing the various maps and charts of revenue he found a glaring inconsistency. This bothered him, so he went and asked one of his superiors about it.  
  
“Sir, this building here is listed as occupied, yet has paid no taxes in ten years,” he said, pointing the building out on the map.  
  
“That is because it is occupied by a terrible and murderous beast,” replied his superior, wincing a little.  
  
“Being a murderous beast is no excuse to not pay oneʼs taxes,” declared the young man, who in the past week had been threatened with makeshift weapons, real weapons, a really big dog, eternal damnation, and the evil eye for doing his job. He did not care much for murderous beasts.  
  
“None of my men would risk going there!” argued his superior, who only did desk duty now because he had arthritis in his lower back. The young man frowned at this. ”  
  
“I will go, then,” he said. “Even if the beast does not have an income, it must still pay a property tax if that house truly belongs to it. Otherwise, it is a squatter and has no claim to that land.”  
  
“If you do not return in four months we will write you off as dead,” replied his superior. The young man was perfectly fine with that, and a few days later, when all of his paperwork was in order, he gathered up his books and a few changes of clothes and set out to instruct the murderous beast in the full letter and spirit of the tax code.  
  
When he arrived at the beastʼs house, he found that it was in rather bad shape and surrounded by a tall, rusted fence. The gate was latched, but gave under a little pressure. The young tax collector thought it was stupid to have a gate that was in such a poor state, but he put the thought from his mind as he walked through the overgrown garden towards the house. The whole place was in rather poor shape; it was pointless to be annoyed at the gate. Weeds had pushed aside the stones of the garden path and vines choked the trees which rose tall, ominous, and long-dead, and twisted, unhealthy- looking bushes sprouted more thorns than they did red roses. Had the tax collector been a more superstitious or spiritually-inclined man, he would have shivered at the sense of doom and foreboding that pervaded the garden and the looming, dark house beyond, but he was not, so he merely made note of his surroundings as he walked up to the door. The large brass knocker was rusted and rough enough for him to feel through his thick black gloves.  
  
For a long moment, no one answered his knock, and he was about to try again when he heard heavy footsteps from within. He adjusted his glasses and mentally rehearsed the very proper and formal speech he had planned about propriety, respect, and obeying the law, but when the door opened the words got a bit stuck in his throat, because the beast was an actual beast rather than a metaphorical one and he had not quite been expecting that.  
  
“Well? What the hell do you want?” snapped the beast angrily. It was a very appropriately beastly beast, thought the tax collector after he recovered his wits. It had sharp teeth and claws, as beasts were wont to, and foiled any attempts at further classification by species because it had both scales – on its exposed arms and tail, all a dull reddish-brown – and a mane of brilliantly crimson hair that looked like it hadnʼt been brushed since the last time the beast was a contributing member of society.  
  
“You ah... You have not been paying your taxes,” said the tax collector bluntly. The beast stared at him with its mouth open a little so he decided that elaboration was in order. “I understand that you have no income, but the owner of this property needs to pay the official tax on it. That is the law.”  
  
“... You seriously came to a cursed manor occupied by a murderous creature for that?” asked the beast in a baffled tone.  
  
“Yes,” said the tax collector. “That is my job.” The beast seemed to be just as baffled by his existence as he was by its own, so they just stared at each other for a little while. The tax collector wondered if he ought to start on his proper speech anyway, but before he could the beast gave a theatrical sigh.  
  
“Well,” it said. “I suppose I should invite you in for tea. A lady shouldnʼt leave her guests on the doorstep.” He had not supposed it was a lady beast, but then again he did not consider himself an expert on the matters of beasts or ladies, so he took her at her word and stepped inside. The door slammed shut and bolted itself behind him.  
  
“I do not think a lady ought to lock her guests in either,” said the tax collector warily. The beast threw up her hands in despair.  
  
“I didnʼt lock you in! Itʼs the damn house, it wonʼt let me out either,” she said. “I did tell you it was cursed,” she added.  
  
“Odd. That was not in the official documents,” said the tax collector, who had not really believed in magic and was presently reevaluating that particular opinion because the bolt wouldnʼt budge no matter how hard he tugged at it.  
  
“Yeah well... those probably havenʼt been updated in a while. Bureaucracies are a nightmare,” said the beast.   
  
“They would have been updated if you sent in a formal complaint,” replied the tax collector, and the beast shook her head silently and, when he wasnʼt paying attention to her, knocked him out. He woke up to the smell of burned food three hours later in a bedroom that probably hadnʼt been used since before the last time the beast had brushed her hair.  
  
The mansion had a supply of food, at least, and it seemed as though the curse was not meant to kill the beast or any of her potential guests, though that last part was questionable because the beast could not cook at all and had a terrible temper. While the tax collector had every intention of breaking the curse, doing his job, and reporting back, this was difficult to do because the beast would get violent every time he tried to ask about the curse or the deed to the house.  
  
“Honestly,” said the tax collector. “I cannot help you if you insist on throwing things at me and locking me up.” The beast responded by throwing something heavy against the locked door and growling at him before storming away.  
  
Two whole months passed in this manner, and the tax collector decided to give up on bickering with his hostess. Instead, he examined every inch of the house, looking for some clue about how it and its lady came to be the way they were.  
  
The library was full of books, but none were about enchantments and beasts; they were more often about history and war and economics and art, with a smattering of novels of various qualities and a large number of theatrical works. Interesting though they were, they were of no use to the tax collector.  
  
The house itself was larger than he had thought, with many abandoned rooms and blocked-off hallways. The tax collector counted his steps and made maps and soon found he always knew where he was. The beast was easily distracted, and neither knew nor seemed to care that he was leaving footprints in the dustiest parts of her house. He was glad for that, because he did not want to explain his every movement to her. In fact, they had reached an amicable enough arrangement wherein they only met for dinner and traded off cooking and washing dishes.  
  
One afternoon, the tax collector found a door that had been secured improperly, and thus made his way into a room he had not previously examined. It was full of broken and burned furniture, and the only thing that wasnʼt destroyed was a plain white vase with a single crimson rose inside of it. Upon closer inspection, the rose was close to wilting and there was dust on the few remaining petals.  
  
“Well, of course it is in such a state,” said the tax collector to himself. “Any plant needs water and sunlight to do well, and this one has neither.” Indeed, the vase was almost completely empty of water. So, the tax collector took the rose and the vase and took them to the kitchen, where he refilled the water and placed the them on the windowsill before starting to make dinner because it was his turn.  
  
He had not noticed the rose petal caught in his shirtcuff, but the beast did as soon as she saw him and she flew into a terrible rage once again, threatening him with a large knife that he was fairly sure was supposed to be used to skin fish.  
  
“What gave you any right to touch that rose?!” cried the beast furiously, and the tax collector, as was his custom, told her the truth.  
  
“It was wilting where it was. Any plant needs water and sunlight to grow, and locked up like that, it had neither,” he said. “Besides, it will be dead soon. When I put it in the kitchen, there were only four petals left.” The beast threw down the knife and fled the room in tears. Once he was certain she wasnʼt lurking outside the door with an even bigger weapon, he took her plate of food up to her room and knocked on the door.  
  
“Go away!” yelled the beast from inside her room.  
  
“We are both trapped in this house,” replied the tax collector. “The least you can do is tell me what is going on.”  
  
“Iʼm not going to yell my life story through a bloody door,” replied the beast, and, not for the first time since meeting her the tax collector fought the urge to hit his head against the wall repeatedly.  
  
“Perhaps you should open the door, then?” he offered, and didnʼt even bother flinching at the familiar sound of the beast throwing something heavy against it. After a moment of silence she yanked the door open and glared at him.  
  
“Iʼm going to die a monster, and youʼre going to die by my hand, and itʼs because Iʼm cursed and so is the house, because there are a whole bunch of dead people in the basement including the lady who actually owned it, but sheʼs a beast too, and anyway no one can love monsters like us, so the curse will never be broken, and the rose is relevant because my time is up when all the petals fall off.” She said all of this without taking a breath. “Any questions?”  
  
“Yes, actually,” said the tax collector, who had never had so many questions in his life. “... Why did you not tell me any of this? We could have had much more time to work this out.” That did not begin to cover his questions, but the beast looked like she was going to cry again so he shoved the tray of food at her, took the keys from her desk, and very quickly found the way to the basement.  
  
There were, indeed, dead people there, though all but one were now plain white skeletons. The last was a beast that looked like his beast, but somewhat smaller and daintier, with the red mane cut short about her chin. When he leaned over the corpse curiously, one of her cold, clawed hands made to grab at his throat, and he barely jumped away in time. He waited, holding his breath, but the dead beast made no other movements and he realized it was safe to walk past her and back up the stairs. He found his beast waiting for him.  
  
“Oh! Youʼre safe...? Iʼd thought...” His beastʼs eyes were wide with worry, and for the first time he noticed that they were green. He had been expecting red.  
  
“One of the corpses tried to strangle me,” he said, and his beast nodded shakily.  
  
“They... they all start moving if I go down there. They shake the whole house,” she said. The tax collector had never thought too much about moving corpses, because all the corpses he had known about had been formally and properly buried and therefore had remained quite still in their coffins.  
  
“... Well, I doubt they are comfortable, sitting on cold stones as they are,” pointed out the tax collector. “The dead ought to be treated with respect.”  
  
“I canʼt go down there or outside,” snapped the beast. “How the hell am I supposed to bury them?”  
  
“If one of them is the lady of the house, she should be able to open the door,” replied the tax collector, and despite the beastʼs arguments the two of them wound up walking down the stairs again together. As soon as his beastʼs paws touched stone, the corpse of the other beast began to rise to its feet and the skeletons swayed and groaned. His beast ducked behind him.  
  
“You see what they do?” she asked, shaking. The tax collector nodded and addressed the beastly corpse.  
  
“Lady of the house, why do you keep us here?” he asked. The corpse swayed to a stop, and he considered that it may not be capable of talking. It didnʼt answer in words, and instead pointed at his beast who whimpered quietly.  
  
“She wants me dead... I killed her...” she whispered.  
  
“Lady of the house, why did you die?” he asked, and this time she pointed to the rattling skeletons behind her. His beast began to cry in earnest.  
  
“Sheʼd kill her servant girls... and when I came I helped her hide the bodies.”  
  
“Lady of the house, did you write a will?” The corpse shook its head in the negative.  
  
“I... I donʼt think she had family,” said his beast between sniffles. “They died...” “Then this building is the property of the state,” replied the tax collector firmly. “Lady of the house, you and your victims must be buried.” The corpse made no motion. “Lady of the house,” he tried again. “Would you let us dig your grave?” And with a nod, the corpse fell back to the ground and the skeletons clattered to piles of bone. Aboveground, the bolts on the doors creaked and abruptly fell to the floor.  
  
“... Do you really mean to bury them?” asked his beast uncertainly. He nodded.  
  
“I did tell them I would,” he said. They had no coffins, but the wooden planks that had sealed off doors to other parts of the house were easily repurposed, and weeds were pulled in the garden and graves were dug and eventually all of the bodies were buried. The tax collector and the beast had found employment records in the basement as well, and managed to match a name to each of the dead women, so they marked each grave with the right name, year of birth, and year of death, and when they were through the tax collector put up a little sign indicating that the area was a graveyard.  
  
“... It looks very proper,” said the beast with a sharp-toothed grin as they surveyed their handiwork a few days later.  
  
“Thank you,” replied the tax collector. After a moment, the beast looked at him askance.  
  
“So, what are you going to do now?” she asked. “Youʼre not stuck in the house anymore...”  
  
“I do have a job to do, you know,” said the tax collector. “However, I have a monthʼs time to spare before I must return. Will you tell me about the curse?”  
  
“... Youʼre a true gentleman,” said the beast, hanging her head. “But you should go now. Iʼm not stupid enough to think I can force you to love me, and when that rose dies, Iʼll lose my mind completely.”  
  
“That does sound quite problematic,” said the tax collector, who certainly had grown fond of the beast but was by no means in love with her. He was, however, a man of the letter of the law. “Do you recall the exact wording of the curse?” he asked.  
  
“Not all of it...” admitted the beast. “Just that... someone had to love us enough to free us from it.”  
  
“I see,” said the tax collector. After a moment of consideration, he took the startled beast by the hand and led her toward the rusted gate, and pulled it open. The two of them stepped off of the property together, and the tax collector stooped and picked one of the late summer flowers growing amidst the grass. When he turned back around, there was a young woman with wild red hair standing where the beast had stood and wearing the beastʼs worn and rather torn clothing.  
  
“I think,” he said, handing her the flower, “I would like you to come back to the city with me.” And her green eyes lit up with comprehension and she threw her arms around him, and to his eternal surprise he neither flinched nor resisted.  
  
“I think,” whispered the girl who wasnʼt a beast anymore, “I would like that a lot.”  
  
So they went back inside to collect their things and then they traveled back to the city, where the tax collector explained to his superiors that there was no longer a murderous beast, the lady of the house was dead and the property belonged to the state, and there was also suddenly a graveyard, if anyone was wondering. The tax collector got a promotion and eventually didnʼt have to go around yelling at people as much anymore, the girl who was no longer a beast did her best to turn over a new leaf and not go after people with heavy and/or sharp objects, and eventually they got married, because they had the routines anyway so they were better off with the tax benefits than without.  
  
And, though it skips over a great many interesting adventures, they did live happily – and respectably – ever after.


	3. A Story for Little Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like the triplets. Do you like the triplets? I don't care, have the triplets.

Oh? You want to know what kind of stories we have? We canʼt really call them fairytales, you know, but we have some that are similar to yours. Isnʼt there a human story about children lost in the woods? ʻHansel and Gretel?ʼ I see. We have one that is similar to that. Would you like to hear it? Very well, then.  
  
Once upon a time, rather far from here, there lived three little demons. They were perfectly identical to an outside observer, but they could tell each other apart and that was what really mattered. The trouble that plagued them was simple: like all demons, they were always hungry, but there was nothing around for them to eat.  
  
One day, they followed an older demon out on a hunt, leaving a trail of pebbles to mark their path. It was quite clever of them to have done so, because the older demon vanished without a trace and the triplets had to pick their way back home following their rock path.  
  
The next time, they made sure to choose a nicer-looking demon, but that sort of thing really didnʼt help because demons were demons, nice-looking or not, and the triplets found themselves terribly lost once again. They tried to follow the path they had marked like before, but this time the older demon had knocked their pebbles all over the place, and they found themselves wandering blindly.  
  
They walked and walked aimlessly until a strange, sweet smell reached them. They had never smelled anything like it before, so being curious little demons they followed their noses until they reached the source of the smell: a cottage that seemed to be made entirely of baked goods topped with confectionerʼs sugar. The boldest of the triplets licked the railing, but it didnʼt taste very good to him. Sugary snacks were better suited for humans.   
  
“Thereʼs a door,” murmured one of his brothers, and the other nodded assent.   
  
“We should knock on it, maybe?” he suggested. The boldest of the triplets suited action to his brothersʼ words and knocked as best he could on a door made out ginger snaps. After a few moments it was opened by a beautiful woman with long lilac hair, who looked at the triplets and smiled sweetly.  
  
“My little ones, you look quite lost,” she said, in a voice like honey. The triplets nodded in unison, because they were, indeed, quite lost. “Do come inside, I could get you something to eat.” That was the proper way to tempt a demon of any age and also a child of any species, so the triplets followed her inside where she served them something that they found to be very delicious.  
  
“Thank you very much, Miss,” said the boldest triplet.   
  
“It was very tasty,” agreed the second.   
  
“We were hungry,” added the third. The woman laughed softly.   
  
“Well, of course you were hungry. Why else would little demons like yourselves wander the woods alone?” They had no idea why else little demons would wander the woods alone so they all shrugged.  
  
“No idea,” said the boldest triplet. “Is there often food in the woods?”   
  
“Yes,” replied the woman. “There are always weary travelers around here. However, the woods are vast and the travelers are always in motion, so it doesnʼt make much sense to chase them around.”  
  
“So...” Despite being the boldest triplet, he wasnʼt the smartest. One of his brothers picked up the slack.  
  
“So you wait here and they come to you?” he asked. The woman nodded.   
  
“Grateful souls are much sweeter,” she said. None of the triplets knew souls came in flavors, so they just nodded at her. She sighed. “Well, I canʼt just throw the three of you out, and thereʼs more than enough food for me to eat. Would you like to stay here with me?” she asked.  
  
“Yes please,” said one triplet.  
  
“Very much,” said the second.  
  
“More than anything,” said the third.  
  
So they stayed, and built more of the edible house and tempted various travelers to their dooms and generally lived much better than most demons got to, because they had a very clever big sister to teach them tricks.  
  
... See? This one ends happily for everyone. I think itʼs much nicer than human stories. How is it these usually end... ʻAnd the triplets and their sister lived happily ever after.ʼ


	4. Pure-As-Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be Snow White, starring Sebastian. And then demons happened a little too much and so did my crackship of choice. Oh well!

Once upon a time, in a place that both was and wasnʼt far away from where we are now, there existed a demon who was exquisitely beautiful. His skin was as white as snow, his hair was as black as a ravenʼs wing, and his eyes were as red as freshly spilled blood; he revelled in a grace of form that was beyond even that of his equally supernatural kin. Indeed, it was said that he was the most bewitching creature to have wandered that land. His beauty would have made him well-known enough on its own, but what truly drew attention to him was his heart, for he was a surprisingly kind and gentle creature, insofar as a demon could be. This drove the other demons, already envious of his beauty, to mock him by calling him Pure-As-Snow. Pure-As-Snow knew an insult when he heard one, but he also knew a lost cause when he saw one, so when someone called out to him with that name he always smiled sweetly and obliged them, saving his cruelties for those who had wronged him more directly. After all, he thought, what sort of demon would he be if he was so easily wounded by words? Now, Pure-As-Snow had one rival who managed to differentiate himself from the crowd. He was a devil of a soldier, cold-hearted and devious, and over the years he established himself as a force no one particularly wanted to reckon with. He and Pure- As-Snow would often argue and spar, and most thought one would eventually kill the other. However, as they had not done so yet, Pure-As-Snow began to grow complacent with their arrangement. As he lived more or less untroubled, he grew lovelier and lovelier until his rival could contain his envy no longer.  
  
“Pure-As-Snow,” he called. “I find myself in trouble.” And Pure-As-Snow took him at his word.  
  
“Is that so? What ails you?” he asked, and his rival began to spin him a story. “There is a lady who possesses many amazing weapons,” he explained. “One who wields such a weapon in battle cannot be defeated. However, the lady will only barter away a weapon for something equally precious.”  
  
“And one like you,” said Pure-As-Snow, “has nothing precious to give. What will you have me do?” A smirk twisted Pure-As-Snowʼs lips. “I refuse to trade myself, you know.” “I would not ask such a thing of you,” the rival assured him. “The matter is such– within the dark forest grows a rose the color of the sky at midnight on a moonless night,and that is what the lady desires from me. However, my duties forbid from wandering to forest to find it. If you do me this favor, I will return it twice over.”  
  
“You cannot lie to me, dear rival,” replied Pure-As-Snow teasingly. “I know you fear the beasts that haunt the woods by night. Very well, I shall retrieve your rose.”  
  
So, Pure-As-Snow set out into the dark forest, the sharp heels of his shoes cutting through anything he stepped on. The trees in the forest were twisted and bent out of shape, and the vines that hung around them hissed and shifted like snakes and reached out to snatch and strangle any who would walk near them. Pure-As-Snow hummed a lullaby and gently turned away the reaching vines, and they retreated enough to let him pass. In this manner he walked on through the forest to the clearing where the rosebush grew, surrounded by a river of boiling water. When he approached, the bubbling sound became nearly a roar, but Pure-As-Snow knelt by the riverside and murmured sweet stories until the waters calmed and he could leap across. He landed lightly beside the rosebush and saw that, indeed, there were flowers there as black as the midnight sky on a moonless night.  
  
“Forgive me,” he said to the rosebush. “This will only hurt for a short time.” And he picked one of the roses and bound the broken stem with black ribbon. And so Pure- As-Snow crossed the boiling river once again and made his way back through the vine- filled forest and returned to his rivalʼs side with the black rose.  
  
“Back so soon?” asked his rival, who was quite surprised that neither the vines nor the boiling river had troubled Pure-As-Snow.  
  
“Yes,” replied Pure-As-Snow. “And here is the gift for the lady. Do not forget to repay me later.” “Of course,” said the rival, and he took the black rose and made his way to where the lady lived – for that part of his story had not been a lie, there was a lady who traded in precious and deadly things. He was still fuming when he knelt before the lady and proffered her the black rose.  
  
“That must have been very difficult to get,” said the lady with a wan smile. “What do you intend to trade it for?”  
  
“I want something that can kill Pure-As-Snow,” he replied, and the lady inclined her head.  
  
“I see,” she said placidly. “For a weapon that can kill a demon completely, the price is much higher than a single rose.”  
  
“Then what am I to do?!” he asked, yellow eyes glowing with anger. She raised one dainty, dark hand to stop him from lurching forward.  
  
“On a mountain far away there lives an angel who keeps a magnificent garden behind high walls, guarded by a ferocious hound. Send your Pure-As-Snow to retrieve the most beautiful rose in that garden and bring it to me, and then we will proceed  
  
When Pure-As-Snow heard about the angelʼs garden, he laughed aloud. “Ah, this time I understand why you would send another. An angel is nothing to be trifled with,” he said. “In two weeksʼ time I will return with your rose, but remember to repay me later.”  
  
“I will do for you what you do for me, and twice over,” replied the rival insincerely, and Pure-As-Snow took him at his word once again.  
  
As soon as he could, Pure-As-Snow set out toward the angelʼs mountain. While it was quite far away, the journey did not trouble him as it would a human, for he rarely  
  
tired and needed neither to sleep nor to eat. At the end of the third day, he could see the mountain in the distance. He decided he was making very good time. The very next morning, a young woman fell out of a tree, and Pure-As-Snow caught her nimbly.  
  
“... What were you doing up there, Miss?” he asked as he set her back on her feet, because he was legitimately curious about why there had been a human in a tree. The girl blushed furiously and buried her face in her hands.  
  
“I wanted to get a better view of the mountain, I did, but I must have slipped, because– well– I fell on you,” she explained, her voice somewhat muffled. “And did you get a good view of the mountain?” he asked. This put her a little more at ease, evidently, because she peeked out from between her fingers. Her eyes were dark brown and unfocussed, as though she was looking at a point far beyond where Pure-As-Snow was standing.  
  
“Oh! Yes, I did. That dog is out again,” she said.  
  
“That dog?” echoed Pure-As-Snow, confused. The girl with the strange eyes nodded vigorously, her shame evidently forgotten.  
  
“Thereʼs a great big white dog up on the mountain, there is!” she said. “He doesnʼt get let out all the time, though. Only when his master is praying.”  
  
“How interesting,” said Pure-As-Snow, who hated dogs. “And how did you come to see the mountain in such detail from here? Surely it is quite far away.”  
  
“I can see wherever I want, I can,” said the girl. “Itʼs my blessing.” “I see,” said Pure-As-Snow. “Does his master pray often?” “Every other day,” replied the girl. “So, today, and then the day after tomorrow and so on.” Pure-As-Snow thanked her kindly and went on his way.  
  
After another day of walking, he happened upon a house where the roof was on fire. Thinking quickly, Pure-As-Snow snatched off the burning roof and smothered the flames in darkness. Since the damage was minimal, he put the roof back without thinking about it too much, and when he stepped back he saw a young man staring at him. “... Were you flying just now?” asked the young man, and Pure-As-Snow decided that lying to him was pointless.  
  
“Yes,” he replied. The young man kept staring for a full half a minute more before he shook his head and regathered his few wits.  
  
“Well, uh... thanks,” said the young man. “I donʼt really have much to pay with...” “It was no trouble,” replied Pure-As-Snow. “You need not pay me.” “Yeah I do, though!” replied the young man. “Youʼre traveling, right? Iʼll fix you something to eat on the road.” With a shrug, Pure-As-Snow assented, and was soon handed some lumpy and not-particularly-edible bread rolls for his journey. Not for the first time, he found himself very glad he didnʼt need to eat human food, but he still thanked the young man for his kindness and continued on his way.  
  
The day after that, Pure-As-Snow reached the foot of the mountain, where he was met by a strange child.  
  
“Are you on a– on a... Are you going up to the angelʼs place?” asked the child. “Yes,” said Pure-As-Snow. “Are you?”  
  
“Yes,” replied the child. “But Iʼm scared to go all alone. Can we go together?”  
  
“Certainly,” said Pure-As-Snow with a smile. “That is, if you can keep up with me. I must not tarry.” To his surprise, the child could keep up with him fairly well, and Pure-  
  
As-Snow reached the top of the mountain path only a short while before the child did. Very suddenly, however, they were met with the sight of an enormous white dog, far larger than the two of them together. It saw them and gave a low, furious growl, and the child began to cry in fear, hanging onto the back of Pure-As-Snowʼs shirt. However, as soon as it got close enough to bite, Pure-As-Snow threw one of the rolls just past its nose, and when the dog bounded after it, Pure-As-Snow and the child hurried towards the walled building ahead of them. The dog caught up twice more, but each time Pure- As-Snow distracted it, and soon they reached the heavy wooden gates. When the child knocked on them, they opened to reveal a girl in a long gray dress and a headdress that hid most of her hair. She looked very surprised to see visitors.  
  
“Are you here to see the chapel...?” she asked uncertainly. Pure-As-Snow smiled politely at her.  
  
“I understand this is an unorthodox hour, Miss, but please let us in,” he said. The girl in gray shook her her. ! “Our master is praying in the chapel right now, and he does not wish to be disturbed.” She bit her lip. “Iʼm sorry...”  
  
“That is quite alright, Miss,” said Pure-As-Snow. “We do not need to see the chapel itself. Merely being in the proximity of such a holy place would be enough.” Indeed, he was already beginning to get a headache. The girl still looked uncertain, but she stepped out of the door way and gestured the two of them inside. The garden was huge and lush, full of plants the likes of which were not normally seen in that climate, and Pure-As-Snow could not for the life in him see a rosebush anywhere.  
  
“This garden is beautiful!” exclaimed the child, gaze fixed on a pure white lily that was as tall as he was. The girl in gray smiled.  
  
“Our master says every garden aspires to be a paradise,” she said. “Would you like a tour?”  
  
“Yes,” said Pure-As-Snow, feeling rather dizzy. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”  
  
So the girl in gray led them around and pointed out every single flower, and the child peppered her with so many questions that she didnʼt see Pure-As-Snow slip away and pluck a single white rose off of the lone rosebush there. The rose seemed to shine with an unearthly light as he held it in his hand, so he quickly hid it under his cloak and bound the broken stem, this time with a white ribbon. Noting that the girl in gray was still distracted, he slipped out of the garden, back through the gate, and past the big white dog which wagged its tail at him. Going down the mountain was much easier than climbing up it, especially since Pure-As-Snow was essentially indestructible. Checking to make sure the precious white rose was secure, he hurried back home and presented the flower to his rival.  
  
“Back so soon?” asked his rival, surprised and annoyed that the elements, the guard dog, and the angel had all failed to do away with Pure-As-Snow.  
  
Yes,” replied Pure-As-Snow. “And here is the gift for the lady. Do not forget to repay me later.”  
  
“Of course,” said the rival, and he took the shining white rose and went to see the lady, now doubly fuming. When he arrived, he threw the rose at her and glared. “This is a very precious thing,” she chided gently. “You should treat it with more care.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” snapped the rival. “It is as precious and cared for as Pure-As-Snow!” “Calm yourself,” replied the lady. “Rage cannot help you now.” “And neither can you, unless you give me a weapon that can destroy him!” growled the rival.  
  
“Now,” asked said the lady, “For what you have given me, I can grant you the power to kill him, but not to destroy him.”  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked.  
  
“If you kill him, then he will breathe no more, he will laugh no more, he will hunt no more, but he will still exist. You can cut out his heart or cut off his head, but he will still be beautiful, and he will still be remembered.” She folded her hands on her lap and looked at him calmly.  
  
“And what do I need to give you to be able to destroy him?” asked the rival through gritted teeth.  
  
“A rose from the land of the dead,” she replied. “That is where all is remembered, and all is forgotten.”  
  
“Very well. And if he fails to deliver it?” he asked. The lady smiled. “Then he will be forgotten, with no one left to look at him,” she replied, and the rival walked away satisfied for the time being.  
  
The next day, Pure-As-Snow set out for the land of the dead. There were no maps that led there, but Pure-As-Snow was certain that he would find it eventually. As it was, he wandered along until he found a strange shop on the side of the road, far from any towns. Curious, he stepped inside. The whole place smelled terribly strange, and for a moment he thought it was abandoned, but then a voice called to him from somewhere in the dust. ! “Rest yourself, traveler, if you can pay my fee.”  
  
“Well, what is your fee, stranger?” asked Pure-As-Snow, because he was not about to fall into a debt he could not pay. A hoarse cough sounded from somewhere else in the store, and the voice replied:  
  
“All I want from you is something to make me laugh.” Pure-As-Snow frowned, because while he was charming and well-spoken, he had never considered himself particularly amusing.  
  
“Then I will leave you to your solitude,” he replied. “I need to reach the land of the dead and pick a rose there for a lady I do not know.” A manic cackle filled the dusty, odd-smelling air, and Pure-As-Snow supposed his quest did sound a little ridiculous if one thought about it.  
  
“You want the land of the dead, do you?” wheezed the voice between sporadic bouts of laughter. “Iʼll tell you the way, oh yes. This laughter more than pays for that!” “Then please do,” said Pure-As-Snow.  
  
“If you want the land of the dead, you just need to follow any road, but follow it until the very end. Do you understand? Even if it becomes just a few pebbles, just bent grass, keep following it, and then you will find your way.”  
  
“Thank you very much,” said Pure-As-Snow. “I will visit again on my way back.” And he left the strange shop with the disembodied laughter once again ringing in his ears. Pure-As-Snow returned to the road and began to follow it. He walked day and night, past towns and cities and forests, until the road narrowed so much his feet slipped off of it, until even that narrow path faded pebbles and then to bent grass, until the road finally stopped and Pure-As-Snow found himself at a door that was attached to nothing at all. He tried the handle, but it was locked, so he tried the neat brass knocker instead. He could hear a scuffle on the far side, and the sound of someone running, then the lock clicked undone and the door opened, revealing a creature the likes of which he had never seen before.  
  
“And who might you be, cutie?” asked the creature with a sharp-toothed grin, tilting its head.  
  
“A traveller on a quest,” replied Pure-As-Snow, and the creature laughed. ! “Oh?” it trilled. “Then tell me, knight errant, what is your quest that it brings you to deathʼs very door?”  
  
“I need a rose from the land of the dead to give to a lady,” he replied, and the creature frowned.  
  
“Any such thing will come with a price, you know,” it said. Pure-As-Snow nodded. ! “What is the price, then?” The creature pondered this question for a moment, then smirked wickedly.  
  
“A kiss. If you kiss me, I will give you the flower you want.” Pure-As-Snow did not want to put his mouth anywhere near those teeth, so he considered an alternative. “Or I could knock you out and go through the door myself,” he pointed out. To his annoyance, the creature did not look worried in the slightest.  
  
“If you say so,” said the creature with a shrug. “Good luck navigating this place, and do watch out for my superiors.” Pure-As-Snow also did not want to pick a fight with this creatureʼs superiors, so he weighed his options and chose the one with less potential for violence  
  
“Very well, you can have your kiss when I see the rose,” he said. “And if you bite me, I will cut out your tongue.”  
  
“Demons,” said the creature to itself as it skipped away, “are so delightfully violent.”  
  
Pure-As-Snow lingered at the door, unsure of whether or not the strange creature would return, but it soon did, in a whirl of crimson and a scent that covered up the fact that it had no scent of its own. In one gloved hand it clutched a rose the color of freshly spilled blood. Pure-As-Snow reached for the flower, but the creature jerked it out of his reach. “Pay me first, dearest demon,” the creature purred, so Pure-As-Snow kissed it briefly on the cheek and snatched the flower away.  
  
“I do hope you find that sufficient,” said Pure-As-Snow, and the creature shrugged again. “Iʼll make do, I suppose.” A frown twisted its face oddly. “I never did like those roses. They donʼt look alive.” And with that, the creature vanished and the door slammed shut and locked, leaving Pure-As-Snow standing in tall grass holding the flower. He looked at it more closely and found that it did look a bit stiff, but try as he might he couldnʼt recall what a rose was supposed to look like. He gave up on wondering and began to follow the road back home, hoping this was the last ridiculous quest his rival would send him on.  
  
However, unbeknownst to Pure-As-Snow, his rival had grown too impatient to wait for him to return from the land of the dead. He had convinced the lady to give him the demon-killing sword rather than waiting for the better weapon, and thusly armed he set off to find and kill Pure-As-Snow. When he saw Pure-As-Snow hurrying down the road, he hid himself in the shadows until he was within reach, and then plunged the sword into Pure-As-Snowʼs back. Then he picked up the blood-red rose, which had fallen to the ground, and threw Pure-As-Snowʼs corpse into the undergrowth where he was certain it would not be found. Having finally gotten what he wanted, the rival turned around and went home, a smile on his face for the first time in his life.  
  
Pure-As-Snow lay where he had been thrown for many years, and the plants that were nourished by his spilled blood grew beautiful and had the most fragrant blossoms in all the land, but they tangled together to hide him from view. No matter how much time passed, Pure-As-Snow continued to look exactly as he had always looked, for demons are not quite so mortal as other creatures. And so he lay, with a wound in his back and his raven-black hair tangled, in his coffin of plants, until the day a prince and his servant traveled that very same road.  
  
The prince was a young man from a faraway land, and he intended to see all that the world had to offer. Admittedly, he had first set out to find the girl he loved, and when he had found she did not love him in return he had set out to find himself, but he had eventually realized that he was and always had been himself, so now he just sought knowledge. He was very lucky to have his servant with him, for his servant was a very wise man indeed. He had long answered all of his own questions, so now he intended to answer any his prince posed to him.  
  
“Agni,” said the prince as they traveled. “I have been told that the strongest thing in the world is a sword forged in hellfire. Is that so?”  
  
“I have learned,” replied the servant, who was indeed called Agni, “that the strongest thing in the world is honest devotion. One who is devoted can both wield and stop any weapon.”  
  
The prince thought about it and agreed, and they continued on. “Agni,” said the prince on the next day. “I have been told that the broadest thing in the world is is the ocean in the west. Is that so?”  
  
“I have learned,” replied Agni, “that the broadest thing in world is understanding, for with it one can encompass every living thing.”  
  
The prince thought about it and agreed, and they continued on. They had come upon the place where Pure-As-Snow lay, and the prince was admiring the flowers growing there when he asked his servant:  
  
“I am told that the most beautiful thing in the world is a heavenly rose, or a blue diamond, or the sky at sunrise. Are any of these true?”  
  
“I have learned,” replied Agni, “that the most beautiful thing in the world is seeing oneʼs loved ones happy.”  
  
The prince thought about it, but he was still much too young to understand, so he shrugged and picked a flower to smell.  
  
“Why do you suppose these flowers smell so much better than the ones down the road?” he asked. “Does someone tend to them?”  
  
“Perhaps in spirit,” said Agni. “They seem to mark a grave.” And the young prince accepted that on its face and wandered away to lay down in the warm sunlight. Agni knelt by the plants instead and began to untangle them, as if he was unweaving fabric. He knew that were they to wind together too tightly, they would suffocate one another and never grow to their full potential. As he completed his work,  
  
he glimpsed Pure-As-Snow lying where he had been thrown, and he parted the flowers to have a better look. What a surprise for a man like him, to see such a beautiful demon lying as if dead or sleeping! For Agni was quite perceptive, and he did not take Pure-As- Snow to be human, as many seemed to.  
  
“Stranger, this is an odd place to rest,” he said, smoothing the tangles in Pure- As-Snowʼs hair, but he got no response. He saw the blood still flowing from the wound on the demonʼs back, and set about gathering herbs that would stop the bleeding and cause the wound to stich together faster, and he tended to Pure-As-Snow in a very gentle way.  
  
It was a manner of treatment not quite familiar to a demon, so when he woke to a stranger changing his bandages, Pure-As-Snow was quite surprised. He was all the more surprised that when he bared his teeth and flashed his eyes, the man remained gentle and even explained himself.  
  
“I see,” said Pure-As-Snow with a crooked smile. “I am told that in stories, such curses are broken by a kiss.”  
  
“And I have learned,” replied Agni, “that in our world, curses are so often broken by kindness.”  
  
And Pure-As-Snow, and the young prince who had been listening in, both thought about and decided that it sounded rather nice.  
  
“Besides,” said Agni after a momentʼs thought. “One shouldnʼt go kissing strangers. They may not appreciate it.”  
  
“Quite so,” agreed Pure-As-Snow, though he was beginning to think he would have appreciated it anyway. “Perhaps, were I to travel with you, we would no longer be strangers.” And the suggestion either went completely over Agniʼs head or was vehemently ignored, because he smiled and said:  
  
“That is true. Then we would be traveling companions.”  
  
And so they were, and the prince eventually saw a great deal of the world and made a great many new friends, and forgot all about the girl who had broken his heart, and when he returned to his kingdom he was a far wiser man who later became a very good king. Since the prince had run out of questions to ask, his servant quietly left. He met Pure-As-Snow at the gate of the palace, and the two of them journeyed on in search of further answers to further questions until they were not strangers at all.  
  
On the day Pure-As-Snow turned around and saw something he knew was more beautiful than he was, he knew that he and he dear friend would actually live happily ever after.


	5. The Measure of a Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what I found in the depths of my hard drive! A whole bunch of fic, including another one of these. Yaaay!

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful maiden who lived in the only room of a high tower, isolated from the world and all the people in it. Sometimes, those who traveled through the woods where the tower stood could hear her sing. Those travelers often strayed from their paths, seeking the source of the beautiful voice, but they never found it; instead, they would wander and wander and suddenly find themselves on the other side of the woods, closer to their destinations but ever further from the tower and the source of the song.

Of course, that is not the usual effect of a song, but the maiden in the tower was not the usual sort of maiden. In fact, she was a powerful witch, and though she looked like a young girl, it was very possible that she had lived for a long time. Still, while she resided in the tower, no harm came to any traveller that passed through her domain, and in the springtime there was a carpet of wildflowers that spread amongst the trees, with rows of delicate bluebells lining safe paths to walk on. After all, the fact that she was a witch did not make her any less of a pure-hearted maiden, and pure-hearted maidens have a special effect on magic and the world. 

Now it so happened that, one day, a girl went to walk through the woods. Normally these stories include a prince and a dramatic rescue, but normally the pure-hearted maiden is in the tower against her own will, and there are monsters for her to be rescued from. This is not a story like that, so one day a girl went to walk in the woods, with a white dog by her side that looked like a wolf, and a white cape with a hood that she sometimes joked would be stained red if someone dared lay hands on her without her permission. So far, no one had dared, and she had seen no reason to be anything but soft and sweet. After all, pure-hearted maidens have a special effect on magic and the world. She carried a basket of treats along with her, and decided to walk through the woods to pick some flowers, because her brother who lived on the other side of the woods was a bit of a fool and she thought it best to try to fix up his house every time she came by. It got so terribly gloomy otherwise. 

The girl walked along the paths lined with bluebells, picking flowers that caught her eye and thinking of how best to explain to her fool of a brother that her dog was escort enough and the sword on her belt that the white cape hid did a good enough job of protecting her, when she heard a song on the wind unlike any she had ever heard before. The melody changed and wove itself together like a magic spell, and upon further reflection she realized that it was, in fact, a magic spell. While it was bad form for wholesome daughters of religious men to think a lot about magic, she had always thought it best to know what the potential enemies of the peace were capable of, after all. 

Curiously, she followed the song, focussing on walking straight to the point that she stepped right off the path and walked through wildflowers that reached up to her waist and ignored the concerned whining of her dog as it followed her. That was why she was the first to track the melody to its source and stand at the base of the tall tower with one room. The singing was coming from the one visible window, and if she squinted she could see a figure sitting at it. Even as she stood there, not entirely sure of her next move, the singing stopped. 

“What are you doing here?” asked the melodious voice from the tower. The girl shrugged, then realized she probably couldn’t see that. 

“I wanted to see who was singing,” she said honestly. “God has granted you a beautiful voice.” 

“God, dear heart, has not granted me a thing,” said the girl in the tower, leaning out her window a little. “But thank you for your kind words.” At the angle, a lock of her pitch dark hair tumbled from the window and reached almost to the ground. 

“Why do you say that?” asked the girl on the ground. “You have beauty and song and grace– are these not all gifts?”

“Alas,” said the girl in the tower, “Were they gifts, I would call them such, but there were payment for my services. A witch can exact any sort of payment, after all.”

“I’ve never heard of a witch with a pure heart,” said the girl on the ground, because she had a gift for telling the pure of heart from the masses. So did her brother, she supposed, but he did a rather bad job of it anyway. “Why are you up in the tower anyway?”

“So that I cannot harm people,” came the reply. “It is best that I do not come into contact with anyone. Awful things happen when I do.”

“Oh dear,” said the girl on the ground. “I do hope this does not count as coming into contact with someone.”

“I do not believe it does,” said the girl in the tower. “After all, you have neither gone mad nor died.”

“That’s good, then,” said the girl on the ground. “I will visit you again, then.”

“If that is what you desire, I suppose I can’t stop you,” said the girl in the tower, and the girl on the ground smiled and went on her way. 

The next time she visited she brought treats just for the girl in the tower, and tied the basket to a lock of pitch dark hair, and the two of them sat for a long time talking. The girl on the ground spoke about her family and friends, and her childhood rambles through churchyards and cemeteries, and her work, and her loneliness, and the sorry state of the world outside the forest. In turn, the girl in the tower told her stories about places that seemed either far away or long ago, of families torn apart and bargains made with witches and monsters, of silly boys who seemed almost like her family, of loneliness, of the sorry state of the world she had fled from. 

“I realized,” said the girl on the ground, “I never asked your name.”

“I haven’t a name,” said the girl in the tower. “One must be properly human to have a name, and witches like me are not anymore.”

“Oh,” said the girl on the ground. “Then, may I call you my sister?”

“You may call me whatever you wish,” said the girl in the tower, “But to be your sister sounds very nice indeed.”

And so, many years passed. The girl on the ground visited her sister as often as she could, and baked treats for her and for her foolish brother. For a   
time, everything seemed peaceful, and the two girls almost forgot the sorry state of the world around them. 

It was strange that the war didn’t really come from outside. By the time the invasion happened, there had been a war for a very long time, and   
inquisitors in white and red had long walked the streets of every town, looking for witchery and sedition, and the girl on the ground wept bitter tears each time she saw them, for their hearts were dark and tainted and she was frightened. She longed to tell her fears to her sister, so under cover of darkness she slipped from her town with her white hood and the dog that looked like a wolf and a basket on her arm, and she hurried through the forest that was still beautiful as ever, faster and faster until she reached the foot of the tower. 

“Sister!” she called, and soon heard a reply.

“Dear heart,” said her sister gently. “What brings you here at this time of night?”

So the girl wept bitterly and told the whole story, and her sister murmured words of comfort from her faraway seat, and it was a little too late that they heard the heavy footsteps of the inquisitors all in white and red. 

“What have we here?” asked the leader of the inquisitors. “Witchery! Sedition! The direst sort of evil!”

“I am the only witch here,” said the girl in the tower. “Leave my sister be and challenge me, if you so desire.”

“The first thing one learns,” said the inquisitor, “Is not to bargain with the servants of evil, lest they spread their corruption into your heart!”

“Your heart is already impure,” snapped the girl on the ground. “There is no bargain that can save it!”

“To gaze into the heart of another is no godly gift!” retorted the inquisitor, and he raised his sword to strike her. 

He never managed it, because she lashed out with the sword hidden under her white cape, and when she struck him his tainted heart ceased to beat all at once. The other inquisitors fell soon after, and the girl found that she felt not a hint of regret. A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to find her sister by her side for the first time. 

“Perhaps I have driven you mad after all, dearest sister,” said the girl from the tower with a worried smile. “Still, that is commendable magic for a first attempt.”

“I think we should see to this war,” blurted the girl with the sword. 

“Yes,” agreed her sister. “Two witches can do what one cannot.”

“And two pure-hearted people can do what two witches cannot,” replied the first. 

Later on, it would be said that the leaders of the kingdoms saw sense and ended the war before more lives could be taken. It would be said that there were valiant princes and knights and heroes on both sides. It would be said that one kingdom would have won regardless, because the righteous always triumph. It would be said that the other kingdom would have won regardless because power and magic can topple anything. A great many things would be said by a great many people, and a great many things would go unsaid.

It would not be said, for instance, that the truce was signed in the presence of witches, in a high tower in a forest where the paths were lined with bluebells and wildflowers came up to people’s waists, that neither side had been righteous and that both sides had been powerful, that brave, strong men had cowered and hid, and that two girls in white hoods had walked along the battlefields leaving flowers on every grave and medicine with every wounded soldier, and that a great big white dog that looked like a wolf had eaten the seat of the pants of a king who had tried to lay hands on a girl without her permission. 

After all, saying that sort of thing would require changing the story so very much, and suggest that pure-hearted maidens have special effect on magic and the world that is far greater than any wrought by princes and knights and politicians. And that, I’m sure, wouldn’t do at all.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful maiden who lived in the only room of a high tower in the middle of a forest. She met someone who loved her very much, and then she left the tower, and went far, far away, to live freely in the world. And they lived happily ever after, you know. Despite the sorry state of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this/any of these, check my profile for the half a million other Kuroshitsuji fanfics I've written and the random stuff in other fandoms. If you really really like it, check out my actual published book (https://www.amazon.com/Snows-Haz-Heart-World-Book-ebook/dp/B01AGQZ9YE)!
> 
> :D


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